


Watch Her Undo Him (mgrog)

by fromyesteryear



Category: Gay - Fandom, Music - Fandom, adamhann, art - Fandom, dark - Fandom, georgedaniel, mattyhealy, rossmcdonald, the1975 - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromyesteryear/pseuds/fromyesteryear
Summary: Lying now is just a hobby for Matty. A pinkish bruise; the sleep he'll lose, in the addictive form of girls and booze.Matty isn't cheating on George-he's just his fuck buddy, after all. He shouldn't fret over such a simplistic thing as kissing more than one person at once, yet he was, and it was so stupid of him-but he couldn't stop.Besides, George wasn't a complete idiot, and he could tell Matty he wanted him all for himself whenever he wanted, right? Matty wouldn't say a thing till George spoke up about the nature of their complicated relationship.Matty would simply have to wait and see where time and broken hearts took them."Doesn't she just break your heart?"





	1. The Faces On The Walls Watch Him (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeraphStarshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphStarshine/gifts).



Matty's wall was covered in faces. He wasn't hallucinating or anything of the sort; he'd put them there—blended the paint just right to seem extraordinarily contrasting compared to the otherwise white wall. Eyes halfway hooded beneath heavy lids, he had a perfectly distorted view of his work.

He liked painting quite a bit. He had first discovered the relief he found in art when he was around fifteen, taking hours out of his day to indulge in the simple form of expression. The serenity he'd found in it had washed away under tiresome years, replaced instead by desire and need. But it was a  _good_  need—the need to be something more than just a person on a train going nowhere. He was something, alright. Something, perhaps, a little dangerous. 

Matty let a smile creep its way into his lips when he heard the lock turn from the living room, his eyes remaining half closed.

Surprisingly light footsteps trailed into the room a second layer; Matty could recognize the sound anywhere.

"You ready to go?" Matty asked, finally allowing his eyes to snap open, reality and time following shortly thereafter.

"I'm here, aren't I?" George reasoned, halfhearted and far away from the conversation unfolding.

"Yeah. You are." He sent him a smile, pushing himself out of bed and onto the cold floor. Fragile. The moment- followed by every other moment in the day- was brutally fragile.

Matty pulled George in for a quick embrace, if only for light reassurance- which morphed into a desperate clinging on George's part; stolen warmth—but they were both thieves.   
And Matty reckoned George deserved the warmth received on both ends, to just  _be_  for the day. He was allowed to remember. Pain was often the antidote.

"I don't think about her as often as I used to." George mumbled into Matty's shoulder. He sighed in response. There was little he could say.

"She would've wanted you to move on." He settled on; repeating and repeating.

"I know." Time had left George rather docile. The air in room they stood in seemed to be made of glue; sluggish movements coupled with bitter thoughts never failed to slow time down.

"C'mon. Don't want to be late," He tugged lightly on George's sleeve, pulling him away from the warmth. "I don't doubt your mum would through me out if we were."

George answered only with a nod.

The trip to George's parents house wasn't visually anything out of their usual doings. The knowledge they bore, however, seemed to pose a threat larger than any other—choosing to hang over them like an unwanted cloud. Matty knew, deep down, that the only thing that would stop the shaking in George's hands was patience—something he neither had or wished to acquire.

The short bus ride came to an end long before Matty could decide whether he was happy to be back or dreading it. Either way, he stepped off of the bus with no hesitance.

Matty made to knock on the Daniels' door once they'd wound their way down the darkening streets to the family home, but George cleared his throat in warning.

"Five minutes?" Matty asked, used to his best mate's wordless questions after the years he'd had to learn them.

"Yeah. Just need a smoke." He explained.

"Your dad's gonna kill you." Matty tutted in disapproval.

"Not if he smells the weed first. You fuckin' reek of it." George joked back. Matty let lose a childish noise, the small smile present on his lips contradicting it with no trouble at all.

George lit the cigarette Matty had handed to him, closing his eyes when the lighter clicked shut. The sound was that of a familiar one, yet it haunted every smoker day in and day out.

"She'd be twenty four. Matty, I'm twenty five- I'm older than she was." George broke the silence, the cigarette resting in a lose grip. He didn't sound upset—only wistful. He had grieved for three long years, but the memory of the pain remained.

"And you were older than her last year too, Georgie." Matty paused, tossing the words around in his head, debating whether he'd word it properly or not. "She's not coming back."

"I know. Just can't believe it's been three years already." Matty hummed in acknowledgement. He had never been close to Sarah- not the same way George had been. Losing a friend was never easy, but Matty couldn't imagine ever recovering from losing a sister. Sarah Daniel was not forgotten, however. Nor would she ever be.

"Let's just make it through tonight, yeah?" Matty said then, rubbing his hands together. He watched on in silence as George nodded dumbly. He dropped the cigarette to the floor, stepping on it sullenly.

The Daniel's were excited to see them, to make the most out of their quiet greetings, as though they thought they would awaken the grief of the past if they spoke any louder than a mouse. Matty appreciated that a bit—George didn't need  _loud_  right now, and it seemed that the family understood that. In their own strange way.

"She's fatter than she was last time." Matty simply noted, pointing at someone he presumed was a far of aunt or something of that sort. She really  _was_  fatter. Less colorful, too.

"Think her husband left her just a month ago." George answered, sending him a very obviously pointed look of disapproval.

"What a dick." Matty shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Surely, what with  _your_  values." George snorted amusedly. Matty opened his mouth to reply, only for someone to interject. That someone happened to be George's usually very drunk, very high  _twat_  for an uncle. Matty knew all about him.

"Any of you seen.. uh—you know that weird, yellow lamp thing?" He asked. He seemed moderately sober—for the moment, at least.

"The one with green spots?" Matty asked, waiting only a second for the uncle to nod quickly before saying, "It's right over there, with the pretty girl." He watched him stumble in the wrong direction and added, "By the  _door_!"

George sniggered audibly, making Matty seem like the fool for engaging in conversation.

"I was just being polite." He grumbled, and his statement was true.

"Well—that's a first. Better leave now before any other of my relatives corrupt you." George sighed in faux defeat, draping an arm over Matty. He knew that George wasn't being disrespectful to Sarah by openly stating he wanted to leave. He'd said a year prior to the dinner that every soul attending excluding him and his parents wouldn't have cared if Sarah was alive or dead; they came for the free food and booze.

The dinner didn't last long, as expected, but Matty still felt as though it had been several eternities before he waved goodbye, closing the door before releasing a soft sigh of relief he'd been holding in for far too long.

"Home?" Matty mumbled as they started down the short trek to the bus stop.

"No." George said. "I want to go on an adventure tonight."

"Adventure it is." Matty said, taking his hand and dragging him in the opposite direction. The local bar would have to be adventure enough for George—at least whilst he had an ocean of pent up memories of grief in him, simply waiting to explode.


	2. To Sate An Appetite

When lying becomes somewhat of a hobby, you'll know you've fucked up. That's what Matty had learned in his twenty-five long years on planet Earth.   
It's when you start believing the questionable story you tell that you can label yourself mad; a harsher truth, yet a necessary one. Matty was well aware of this; he knew it like he knew the back of his hand.

He had become rather calculating- never once taking a proper break to think it all through; although, he came across as inconsiderate for consequences. He wasn't so much a careless individual as he was indifferent.

George, however, was naive; Matty had come to conclude this on the day he dragged himself into their shared apartment, high and sated. George had brushed a hand against his cheek and asked where he'd been; Matty hadn't answered. George blew the glitter off of his fingers and nodded, surely smelling the rather prominent perfume still clinging to his sweat soaked skin. And George hadn't questioned him the day thereafter.

Matty was nothing more than a  _fool_ —but he couldn't bring himself to tell himself that it had been so  _wrong_  to kiss the girls at the club, to touch the boys with hair similar to George's- he was a  _mess_.

And he  _had_  George. Sort of. As a fuck buddy. And being just 'fuck buddies' was better than just  'friends'.

But their arrangement was coming to a close- George had found himself a girlfriend- not only a girlfriend, however: a  _pretty_  girlfriend. Arguably, as pretty as Matty was.

And it was infuriating, because he couldn't seem to be able to get through to George. It was as though he thought Matty  _wanted_  to be just fuck buddies. What a problem it had become- how much it had evolved from that girl first entering both of their lives as a damn  _friend_.

Fuck George and his obliviousness. Fuck his girlfriend. Fuck it all. Nothing good ever stays off of going down the slow but sure road down to hell, and Matty had learned that by now. And to say that it was tearing him apart was the understatement of the fucking year.

He may be a little more in love with his best mate than he let on—that didn't mean he'd ever admit that aloud, however, or even to himself, really.

He wasn't all that complicated in real life—he just wasn't gullible, or easily fooled. Not the loveliest characteristic to have- especially when he's often accused of being a self-righteous asshole- which, to be fair, wasn't too far off from the truth.

 _George_ , though. George- he was quite an individual. He stood for what he believed in, but he was naive. Naive and a little bit problematic. Not that Matty wasn't problematic himself- but George was a different kind of problematic. They type where he didn't speak up about very, very obvious and pressing matters. Matty often had to pry the words from his tongue when George suddenly withdrew from conversation- and Matty had never minded his reserved attitude until now, when it effected him so greatly.

He was a bit of a mess, really. He'd always been one. But now it was at least a thousand times worse, because he couldn't talk to George about it, and it was driving him mad keeping it all trapped inside. He could always talk to Adam or Ross about it- of course he could- but it wasn't the  _same_. Not by a long shot. That in itself was worrying, because that left him cooped up in his room, and so far George hadn't checked in on him. And  _that_  wasn't normal.

 _Normal_  would mean George waking Matty up at ten a.m, bringing him a newly brewed cup of coffee, forcing him to eat at least one piece of toast, then snuggling into the bed with him- just talking.

But  _now_ \- now everything was  _different_. Too different. George had stayed over at his girlfriend's apartment-  _Beth_ , or something, had offered weeks ago for him to move in, asking Matty if he thought it would be a good idea. He'd done everything he could to assure her that it was the worst possible idea he'd ever heard a person utter, and that the two shouldn't go through with it. 

George, to Matty's delight, had declined once she offered anyway, but that didn't discourage him from sleeping at hers for days in a row. And it had left Matty utterly destroyed.

It was well past eleven now, and he was late for something- he was sure of it. But was there really any point at all to getting out of bed? He couldn't find anything even mildly appealing in tearing off the warming blankets from the bed and clambering out of his cocoon. He'd probably only leave to check in with the Art Gallery- make sure no ones fucked up so badly he'd need to stay there for the night.

Matty found pleasure and a sense of serenity in owning the Art Gallery- it was what he'd always dreamed of, after all. It was costly, of course, but big sellers and even bigger buyers loved the place- and  _yes_ , he'd need to check his email for potential buyers later that day. But for now, he'd stay in bed. No way would he be able to get out of it  _now_.

He needed to take a shower, he knew that. But the actual act of doing so seemed so  _hard_ , and if only George was there with him he could help him wash up, and he'd go get the clothes he'd surely forget on his bed—but he wasn't there.

He did get out eventually, however, getting the motivation from a simple text sent by George:  _hope you're up. I'll be back by 2:30 xx_

And honestly, the 'xx' was by far the most appealing part of the text.

Matty ended up forgetting the clothes on his bed, much to his disappointment, and made it out of the shower with a towel draped loosely over his hips just as George called out in the apartment.

   "Matty?"

   "I'm in." He called back, smiling childishly when he spotted the long figure walk into the living room. He was leaning against the bathroom door, happily drinking in the look on George's face when he noticed his rather exposing state.

   "Though, we need more milk, and pasta, I think. I can run down to Tesco in a minute. Just got to get some clothes on." He explained.

   "Didn't we just buy milk? How'd you finish it so quickly? I was gone for a night, not a week." George said, although his face gave way to just how indifferent he was to the topic. He was a little caught up in staring at Matty.

   "I don't know. I had a shit ton of coffee today, so maybe that's why." Matty said, holding George's painfully insistent gaze as he lumbered into his room.

   "You decent?" George's muffled voice filter through the half-open door. Matty huffed at the question- it wasn't as though they hadn't seen each other naked before-  _in fact_ , Matty would much prefer it if George had followed him in and watched him put the clothing on, even in the most innocent of ways.

   "Yeah." He called, straightening out his very much unwashed t-shirt.

  "Fuckin' hell," George mumbled when he fell onto Matty's bed- which they had so often shared- not only for sex, but for cuddling and as a comfy spot for banter.

   "What?" Matty asked, turning to face his best friend, laughing at him quietly. He looked like he had when they were just ten: spread out like a starfish on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open.

   "Betty, man,  _Betty_." He murmured.

   "What about her?" Matty dared ask, already resisting the urge to roll his eyes at him. He was a  _good_  friend- he didn't prioritize his own problems over George's.

   "She's just so... I don't know, bossy, I guess. Or demanding. A bit like you, I suppose." He joked, but Matty didn't laugh.

   "Only she doesn't really know what she wants. No, like,  _opinions_  or anything." George continued.

Matty hummed in agreement, sitting down next to George. "She seems pretty boring to me." He stayed, because he was lovely and honest that way.

   " _Thanks_." George said, but he didn't sound at all offended. Perhaps he even agreed with Matty, to some extent, at least.

   "No problem. I'll run down to Tesco now. Call me if you think of something else we need, love." He said, letting the simple nickname slip as though it was the most normal thing in the world. George didn't complain.


	3. Where Is This Going?

George hadn't seemed at all fussed about Matty forgetting to buy both milk and pasta when he came stumbling through the door, smiling apologetically at him with blush on his cheeks.

In fact, there was a small part of him that had smiled at the prospect of Matty not functioning without him. Matty reckoned that it wasn't so that he felt pleasure in his seemingly endless need for something or someone to stabilize him, to ground him- but more so that he could relate to it. He hoped so, anyway.

George had his life together, more or less, but he really didn't have a clue as to what to do half the time when Matty wasn't around- Betty, as Matty had realized thirty seconds into his first conversation with her, was hard to make conversation with when all she really did to contribute to it was mumble the occasional 'yeah,' or laugh when she saw it fitting.

He had barely considered the fact that she had curly hair- much like his own- and warm eyes.

She was Matty, but without the brain and talkative behavior. Essentially.

But besides—Matty doubted George really liked Betty, so it didn't matter. It was to get back at Matty, all in all.

But the fact remained that he absolutely hated being just a fuck buddy to George, whilst also balancing the weight of being his best friend, but he had also made it rather clear that he enjoyed the lose boundaries the arrangement provided him with—if him coming home at three in the morning smelling of sex and sweet perfume was any proof of that.

And Matty looked to be  _fine_  with it—for a while, anyway. Until he started realizing that girls just weren't fun, not like George was- they weren't as beautiful, or as smart- and he was well aware that those characteristics had nothing at all to do with the gender of a person, but rather with who he was attracted to. Women seemed a whole lot stronger than men—his mum and grandma was what had brought that to light.

But  _fuck_ , was he attracted to George.

And it was becoming a rather pressing issue as of late. Because he wasn't supposed to like George that much, not want to be as intimate with George as he did. Especially not full time, because  _that_  wasn't happening. Not in a million years.

He wished it could, though. But George had a girlfriend now, and even if he didn't, it would be the stupidest move anyone could make to go out with  _George fucking Daniel_. When had Matty ever been loyal? Properly loyal—not apologized for whoever he cheated with. He would end up hurting him- enough so that what they'd had would be irrecoverable.

Perhaps their arrangement was the best thing to stick to. At least it would keep them both from getting hurt—which Matty himself had admitted was inevitable with any future partners. Although, he wished now that he hadn't.

And it didn't take the hurt away. Matty tried to ignore the pestering little piece of him that wanted to shout about just how painful it was to watch George screw around with Betty, with no advice at all that could fix his seemingly endless repeat of mistakes. At least it left his best mate feeling  _happy_  for a little while, Matty supposed. 

And so, without anything better to do with himself, Matty had dragged himself over to Julia's small apartment once the clock struck 11:15 p.m. To talk. To converse. Like normal, functional, conforming Homosapien's supposed to.

   "So what do you 'spose I do?"   
Julia shrugged, sipping idly at her dangerously full glass of wine.

   "Thing is, matty—you got yourself into this. It's not really my responsibility to get you out of it."

Matty strongly disagreed. "But it  _is_ \- you're my best friend, it's what you do!"

   "You've lost your head."

   "I have not." Matty scoffed, a somewhat petulant frown tugging at his lips playfully.

   "You know," Julia sighed out, stretching her arms upwards, as though in an attempt to fly (although, that would be considerably easier without a glass of wine in hand), "I reckon George is just a little bit in love with you too."

Matty restrained his eyes from rolling back in his head from the sheer exasperation. "I am well aware, Julia. The love I'm emitting is being reciprocated from every Goddamn turn I take- frankly, I'm overwhelmed-"

   "Would you stop joking around for a second?" Julia interjected, cutting Matty's inspiring speech in half. She didn't sound angry so much as annoyed. Matty kept quiet though, and the surprised look in Julia's face only fueled his childlike need to defend himself. He was an adult, not a ten year old living in a suburban area with just a little bit too much money and a little too little parenting.

   "You fancy George." She stated matter-of-factly. Matty nodded along dumbly. "And George fancies you." Matty bit his lip, a barely noticeable hand wave his only confirmation. It appeared Julia needn't more to continue anyway.   
   "I don't see what the problem is. Ask him out."

Matty groaned a lot longer than necessary before saying, "He has a  _girlfriend_ , Julia."

   "Who he doesn't even like." She countered, pocking Matty in between the ribs.

   "He could simply be infatuated with the idea of being with me, y'know." He said glumly.

   "George?  _Our_  George? Fat chance of that. He's too honest." Julia eyed Matty cautiously; studying, wondering. "Besides, we both know you're just grasping for proof of something you don't even want here."

   "It's not like it hasn't happened before, is all." Matty said, referring to his previous statement.

   "Matty- if there's one thing I can promise you, it's that George isn't just infatuated with you. He loves you. Genuinely."

   "Love's a strong word." Matty joked halfheartedly.

   "Indeed it is. But so is hunger. C'mon, let's go to Nancy's. They're always open."


	4. How Can He Relate To Somebody Who Doesn't Speak?

"How's the rice?" Betty asked. George and Matty sat looking rather bored at Betty's place. Matty had to stop himself from asking how one was supposed to answer to such a question.  _How's_  the rice? How  _is_  the rice? Such a petty attempt at conversation.

He'd considered the notion of death, or hurtling-himself-off-the-building-whilst-he-still-had-a-chance, with somewhat of a rhapsodic delight just then. 

"Just good, thanks. Really like how you've cooked it." Matty said, and George pinched his arm discretely, having already noticed the playful tone in his voice.

"Just a spoon of salt and lemon you've got to add to get it to this flavor. My dad taught me before I went off to college." She answered seriously, and Matty bit his tongue to hold in the snigger trying to break itself lose in his mouth.

Usually he enjoyed American accepts (and Betty had  _quite_ a noticeable one), but for whatever reason, he found her voice annoying at best.

"Amazing, truly." He settled on, earning himself a glare from George. He enjoyed pretty much anything George offered him, however, so he wasn't too bothered.

"So how's it going with the whole adoption thing?" Matty asked as the room fell into a particularly uncomfortable silence.

"God, don't even get me started on this." Betty said, immediately getting started on 'this'. "They want us to pay an extra twenty pounds for the delivery of the puppy, so now we've got to go get him ourselves, which is just terrible. I'll have to take a few hours off of work, and..."

Matty let his head fall onto George's shoulder comfortably, zoning out as Betty continued, apparently not noticing how boredom had taken Matty by the hand.

It was common knowledge that George and Betty were planning on adopting a puppy, and although they were yet to settle on a name, it was definite that they'd get one.

A puppy. That felt awfully  _permanent_  to Matty. George had assured him that it was more so that they were in need of new conversation topics, and adoption seemed good enough. Matty reckoned that was why people got married, too. They ran out of things to talk about.

Thankfully, the night didn't drag on as it so often did, and Matty made up an excuse to leave- George stating that he'd stay with Betty and help clean up. Matty knew he was hoping for sex. He didn't like that. Not a bit.

It was hard to be in love with your best friend. Especially when you'd been fuck buddies for a year and a half.

There wasn't a lot that could bring a relationship so strong to its knees, but a certain girlfriend named Betty was definitely one of them.

So to avoid feeling sorry for himself, Matty headed over to Julia's, as he so often did when George wasn't in.

Although, as it turned out, she was just about ready to stop having daily conversations about George.

"I think you should just tell him." Julia said for the thousandth time. Telling someone that you were in love with them was hard, though. Julia didn't seem at all knowledgeable on that topic, however. "It'd make things a hell of a lot easier for you, y'know." Julia muttered disinterestedly. Matty perked up noticeably then, and exclaimed, "You're a genius!"

To which Julia groaned. "What have I got you started on n-"

"Just hear me out for a minute," He paused to send Julia a sincere look that could only be translated into trouble.

"What if I get him to admit it first?" He said, perhaps expecting a parade to come dancing around the corner of the living room, or balloons to fall from the sky dramatically. Julia sighing in defeat would have to do.

"And how do you suppose you'll get him to do that? Not that I'm worried he doesn't love you, too, of course."

"You kiss me." Matty said, as though the answer was in neon, written on the walls and whatnot. "Or him. Honestly—it's your choice."

"How the hell did you come to that conclusion you fuckin' weirdo?"

"It'll make Georgie jealous, Julia. Honestly thought you were the genius here."

"Your prestigious offer flatters me, truly, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to decline it in favor of watching the telly and ignoring your phone calls."

Matty scowled in an utmost childish way, sticking his tongue out. "But then like, we could make a grand explanation of that we were just messing with him and invite all his friends over. Don't you think it's at least worth a shot, yeah?"

Julia offered him an unattractive snort. "Strategically speaking, that is by far the dumbest thing I've ever heard you put to words, and you talk a shit ton."

"Fuck you."

"You wish."

Matty promptly stood up and left the apartment. Being in his best friend's presence was giving him an extraordinarily bad migraine. And he  _really_  didn't have time for bullshit.


	5. Respiration

He had been breathing all morning. Not that he didn't always breathe, but this morning was different. A little faster, heightened by the perpetual fear he never seemed capable of out running.

He wasn't entirely sure of what could possibly have caused him such distress, but waking up without George's arms wrapped comfortingly around him was a telltale sign that discontentment would be present at the early hour.

As it turned out, George had left early to collect his puppy, and once he'd returned (which calmed Matty down a bit), Matty took one look at the little creature and said, "Alan."

And so, from that day onwards, the puppy was called Alan.

George hadn't seemed bothered by the name at all, but he'd taken the time to ring Matty up later that day to say that Betty wasn't at all satisfied with the name, saying that it was an 'old man' name and such. Matty had argued back that the name was perfectly fitting for a canine, and that one day he'd be an old dog, too. So if nothing else, he'd grow into it.

Matty hadn't had more than a guitar to occupy his time after that, so he'd strolled out of his and George's apartment, walking aimlessly until he found himself in the nearest park.

He'd been quite happy simply drinking in the unusually bright day- that is, until he stumbled upon a tree's root, and his eyes had snapped up in concern. He'd immediately spotted Alan, and then Betty and George, sitting under the ancient, oaken tree just twenty meters away.

His lips had tugged downwards on their own accord, eyebrows furrowing together as he studied the scene. Had he not been invited? Was it a date the couple was on? Was it considered normal to be this invested in his best mate's love life?

Betty laughed at something George said, the sound carrying all the way to where Matty stood, paralyzed and unable to think.

Betty was  _boring_ —was she not? Why was George enjoying the day with her and not him? Oh  _God_ , what a selfish thought. He could not have George all for himself- but he wanted to. He really did.

Before he had time to really process what his feet were doing, he was marching away from the site, making his way back to his apartment. He wondered how long it would be before George chose to move in with Betty. She had a nicer flat, after all. Why wouldn't he want to live with her?

Christ, they adopted a  _dog_  together- of course George had planned to be with her for more than a couple months. He should have seen it before.

He was so fucking  _stupid_ \- telling George how in love he was with him now wouldn't change a thing, even if his feelings were reciprocated.

Society had a very specific view on certain people, and it was probably most judgmental regarding Matty's type. He wasn't just shamed for being who he was, but also for the way he acted. He was rather flamboyant, dangerously so, and he still couldn't see why that should bother others.

And he'd thought it  _didn't_  bother George, but apparently it had. Maybe it still did. Or maybe he was just reading too far into this. That had to be it.

He needed somewhere to be, someone to talk to. Julia would most definitely do. Maybe she was home from work. She was an artist, after all. Chances were that she was working on a project.

Matty decided to head to her rented storage compartment instead, hoping she would be there working.

She wasn't.

So Matty spent the day looking at the paintings hung on the grey, sullen walls of the large room.

He ended up spray painting the only wall that wasn't covered in works-in-process.

_ParaDOxical_

He didn't know what it meant- he certainly wasn't going to spend his time finding out.

He stared at it, then added underneath it,

_Sun-kissed_

He threw the spray paint aside.

The synthesis of intellect and feeling in his work wasn't well presented, but undoubtedly there. Anyone close to Matty could see that. Only those who remained but a stranger wouldn't see it; the notion bothered Matty incredibly.

He'd been going mad for quite some time now, but spray painting Julia's storage compartment was a little too absurd, even for him.

"I'd like a solution, please." Matty said to no one. His voice echoed in the room, and he felt it in his very bones.

"Something." He paused, letting words roll of your tongue without thought was dangerous, depending on who was listening. "Anything, really."

When the grey room failed to answer, he sunk to his knees in defeat. But he smiled. He felt as though he could preserve this moment. There was an air of unrealistic nature to the room, so much so that having it reply wouldn't have come as a shock. It didn't, of course. But the serenity the walls provided ruled out any negatives.

He felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. He was positively famished, really, but he'd been neglecting to eat for quite a while. He didn't really see it necessary to feed oneself- and just that reason proved why he needed someone to rely on.

But like everyone else, Matty's body started working when it's necessary. Never is necessary. Necessary is never. Logic lasted not in his brain.

Freezing to death seemed to be one of the worst posssible ways to go, which was what if felt like he was doing right at that moment; although, Matty had always assumed that being cooked alive would be worse—perhaps more uncomfortable.

Dancing with fate felt risky, to say the least, but Matty couldn't seem to break away from the spotlight. He needed an answer to how he could best talk to George. What would he say? What would he put forth, and what would he leave out?

A confession is what he needed. Either from George, or from himself.

He decided then he'd go home. To which home, he didn't know. But somewhere other than the rented storage compartment.   
It was most definitely necessary.

It felt almost as though all hope Matty might once have had of fixing things had begun desiccating- much like the few house plants he had stood by his kitchen window. He greatly disliked plants. Why had he invested money into buying them in the first place?   
George- of course the answer was and would always remain to be George. He liked plants. He bothered taking care of them. Not like Matty, who was admittadly the worst parent of anything- including inanimate objects- at all.

So he stood up, pulled his coat up to his chin, lighting a cigarette- and left. Before he had a chance to freeze to death.


	6. He Was A Mess For Several Reasons

It wasn't so that Matty was a total mess only because he was in love with George, but also because he was all too capable and prone to working himself into states. Regularly, at that.

Sleep seemed horribly set on eluding him entirely—George wasn't much help, staying over at Betty's almost every chance he got, as though he was purposely avoiding Matty. Which made the situation at least a thousand times worse.

He'd had an easy time going for quite a while- not including the spray painting incident- so obviously it was time for him to get slapped over the head by reality. Once again, he questioned whether he was entirely sane or not.

He had, admittedly, always liked thinking. But not then. Not right there and then; his head was a mess, his body was a mess- his house was a mess. And thinking was not exactly known for solving issues solely related to messes. But, Matty reckoned, perhaps spending entire days doing just that would get him somewhere.

He was wrong.

It wasn't until Thursday, late afternoon, that Matty's glassy eyes first left the window. Cold fingertips tapped away on the floor which he found himself unable to move from; he was not content. He  _high_  and  _sated_  and  _wonderfully_  set on not ever sobering up again.

"You're pathetic." Betty's voice said, without so much as a 'hello'. Matty scowled, craning his neck to see Betty- his  _least_  favorite person- move to close the front door. He didn't bother wondering why she'd come over without George drooling over her from behind. He'd find out soon enough, anyway.

"I know." Matty replied, because at this point, even his ego had deflated to the size of his heart.

"Get up." Betty demanded, a hint of hopelessness hidden away in her unsure gaze. Matty would have taken interest in it on any other day, but he really wasn't feeling it. He would much rather sit in his puddle of self-deprecating jokes, hatred towards the world and imagined alternate worlds he found himself so happily living in, in which Donald Trump wasn't valued as anything but utter idiocy, and in which Matty wasn't a bag of dog shit.

But Matty wasn't in that alternate world, he wasn't happy, he wasn't content, he wasn't somewhat put together; he was a mess. A wreck. Something.

Matty felt not like himself anymore, almost like he no longer fit in his head; he was upset about this. He'd been an overly confident, self assured twat nearly every second he'd found himself near him- George, the one he so unceremoniously found himself moping over. But then there was Julia (who he really should call), the one who knew him far better than Matty felt himself comfortable with, the one that had managed to piece his stubborn self back together each and every time he'd fallen apart over the simplest of things.

And Matty knew he was an emotional human being; had taken pride in it before, but now he was most definitely not gloating. Now he was just an unwashed rat leaning on Betty for support.

"You're thick, aren't you, Matty?" Betty began, turning on the hot water first. Matty recognized the far too bright room the two were stood in as his bathroom, but he didn't get much further as to develop any coherent understanding of why they were there before Betty so rudely spoke again. Matty didn't like that.

"When you quit fucking sobbing over my boyfriend you can come out of the bathroom and explain why you haven't picked up the phone for a day and a half. George has been worried  _sick—_ but, that's for later. I'll be in the living room, waiting." Betty announced. Matty frowned for the first in about five minutes (he quite liked frowning when upset, it was, after all, just face expressions).

Eventually, he did hoist himself onto the bathroom floor, far too mopey to slither into the bath properly. Instead he ducked his head into the tub, breaking the waters surface with an agonizingly loud 'plop'. Matty didn't know what to make of it, really. The eventuality of half-drowning himself had no more anticipation than the inevitability of death. He was left feeling disappointed as he lifted his neck again, his head feeling double the weight it had only a minute earlier, mostly to do with the fact that his hair had somehow managed to soak up at least half the tub's water. Or the dull ache in his skull had decided to amplify. Matty decided then that he appreciated headaches the very least.

Matty groaned, feeling less useful than he had in a long time. What was he doing, anyway? He was hopelessly in love with a boy he couldn't cared less about just five years ago. He was an utter disappointment.

"Matty?" Betty's concerned voice filtered through the closed door- but Matty heard it. He had, under a longer period of time than he'd care to admit, managed to pull himself into the tub. He was in the process of putting on the same t-shirt he'd worn for the past week or so, but it wasn't his, so it didn't bother him.

It wasn't until Betty had yanked the door open, her eyes immediately finding Matty's, that he realized that the t-shirt belonged to George. Of course it belonged to George, only a bear would fit into the said article of clothing.

Betty didn't do much else than sigh at Matty's seemingly distressing appearance, letting her eyes flutter shut for an all to fleeting second.

"I'll make you some tea." She offered. "And I'm not mad about your crush on George. You're cute enough for me to forgive you." She spluttered out so quickly he hardly processed it at all, not awaiting Matty's response before she'd skittered away.

Wearing his best friends t-shirt had truly triggered an emotional tidal wave of thoughts all connected to George somehow (Betty's declaration hadn't exactly helped on that front), and it didn't take longer than a minute before he found himself typing a quick message to him. A request for George to come over ASAP with food and a good movie to watch, that hopefully did not relate to heart break of any kind.

George did not disappoint—which wasn't all that surprising considering he hadn't known where the hell Matty had been for the past twenty hours. He did just as Matty asked, perhaps too aware of the situation at hand, or perhaps blissfully ignorant to it. Betty had found peace in leaving the two to their own devices, however taking her sweet time leaving because she was, essentially, a good girlfriend who genuinely worried about Matty's lack of care toward anything regarding himself and how it affected George.

Betty left eventually, though, and it was mainly because of a certain someone Matty now found himself cuddled up next to, no tears evident on his rosy cheeks.

Betty knew, of course, that George cared about Matty a lot more than any of Matty's other friends did, including  _herself_  (obviously) _,_ but the thought didn't strike Betty as sad or a tad bit hopeless. It struck her with some sort of mellowed out joy, for Matty cared an awful lot about things that stood him near, that was easy to see, and George had to stand on the very top of that list.

-

   "George?" Matty started, heart beating wildly in his chest; he hoped George couldn't hear the rhythmic sound from where he lay.

"Yeah? You alright?" He had always been the worrier—even when he was the one grieving.

"Yes, just—" He paused, sucking in a deep breath.

"What's-"

"No, just let me say this one thing before I lose my sudden, irrational burst of confidence, yeah?" Matty said hurriedly. George nodded, albeit dazedly. He looked rather bewildered.

"Okay." Matty said when George stayed silent, resting the urge to close his eyes and forget about it. He had to do this now or it would never be done. "I love you."

"And I love you." George said, looking at him with doe like eyes, as though he had all the time in the world.

"No, that's not—listen. I know we messed around before, but I mean... in more than a sexual way. In more than a  _friendly_  way. I'm  _in love_  with you." He said it all without really bothering to breathe, pausing only for effect. He'd always been one to enjoy being overly dramatic, even in distressing situations such as the one he found himself in right then.

George remained impossibly silent. Then, slowly, he blinked, his hand slow disentangling itself from Matty's. At first he suspected the worst- he'd fucked this up again, he knew he would, he was bound to, after all.

The situation disintegrated right before his eyes; hands separated, gazes drawn away and souls disconnected.

Then, Matty dared swallow down the butterflies making the journey up to his mouth from his throat.

"I mean it." He stated, mostly to show that he wasn't going back on such a declaration he'd made.

"I know." George said; too softly—too slowly.

" _George_." Matty whined at last, once his already short patience snapped in half. He could faintly discern the face expressions he was trying ridiculously hard to suppress.

"That's a pretty big thing to just...  _drop_  on someone." George said, predictably enough.

"I know—it's rather disconcerting, innit? Reckon I should just take it back now whilst I still can." He laughed nervously. George was, to his surprise, smiling at him nicely— _fondly_ , even.

"I-it's really okay, Matty. Not at all disconcerting. Flattering, but a little hard to process." He dragged a finger along Matty's cheekbone carefully, as though he was made of paper, as though he'd break beneath his touch. He reckoned he might just do that if George continued teasing him.

"George- do you love me? The way I do?" Matty pressed on suddenly, desperate for a straight answer that would most definitely not result in 'straight' occurrences.

"I think so." He mumbled, eyes fixated on Matty's lips. His heart leapt to his throat.

"You  _think_  so?" Matty screeched petulantly. "All this time-" he rubbed his dry eyes free of imaginary tears. "I pined for you—thought you'd come through in the end, and- and-" He moved so that their noses were touching lightly, breaths mingling. "And here I am."

"Here you are." George agreed, a knowing smile present and forever evident in the way the skin around his eyes contracted.

"Are you gonna kiss me now, or do I have to throw a damn fit for that, too?" Matty asked seriously.

George laughed at Matty's usually infamous antics.

"I like you better sober." George commented.

"Funny that, because I'm higher than a fucking kite." He bothered saying before George was brushing his lips against Matty's, sending them both into old patterns so beautiful it was simply impossible to break away to put another word in. 


	7. Once You're A Mess, It Shows In Your Reflection

" _I'll_  drive over to her place, it's  _fine_!" Matty first threw a proper fit that evening once George, for the third time, had insisted on driving Betty's things over by himself.

"Is that really a good idea? I break up with her and then consecutively send over my boyfriend to give her back her stuff? She said she didn't want it  _back_ —Matty, why poke the bear with the damn stick?"

Matty scowled, leaning against the couch George was halfway ready throw himself on in exasperation.

"Firstly, we're not official, and I'm still high, so this conversation will have to be retaken later, yeah? Secondly, that's  _my_  point, you buffoon—seeing you will just tile her up and earn you a shoe to the head. She doesn't hate me as much as she hates you." He reasoned, fluttering his eyelashes at George convincingly.

George groaned. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah; you'll thank me when I'm bak and you come to your senses." Matty said, taking the annoyed look on George's face as an invite to snatch the car keys from the sitting room table.

" _Matty_ —don't you dare." George warned, yet he didn't rise from his spot on the couch.

"See you later,  _babe_." He teases, because George absolutely loathed being called that, but mostly because he was just very high, and a little tipsy from the half empty bottle of wine he'd downed earlier. But George didn't need to know that. Especially when he was taking  _his_  car.

George ended up sighing, which Matty chose to translate into his formal permission to go leave his unofficial boyfriend's ex-girlfriend's things at her place.

He made it to her place without a life threatening crash,

"Here's your stuff." He said, handing her a cardboard box once she'd opened. She took it, and only then did he see how puffy and irritated her eyes looked. "And thanks for taking care of me the other day. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit of a wreck half the time."

"No problem; that's what friends are for." She mumbled. "He'll be alright, yeah?"

Matty was a little taken aback by the fact that she sounded genuinely worried about George. Maybe she was a bit different, after all.

"Yeah. With time." He said, leaning on the doorframe.

Betty seemed to be debating something silently, opening and closing her mouth several times.

"What is it?" Matty urged, hoping she'd spit it out.

"No, no- it's stupid." She waved him off, her eyes flying to the elevator as it dinged, reminding Matty that he had to get home.

"It's alright. You can tell me." He found himself leaning dangerously close to the wellknown territory of flirting.

_No. Absolutely not._

"I'm...  _God_ , it's just- everything's a mess, y'know? I miss him, I really do. But I never had a chance to tell either of you two the truth." She paused, biting her lip.

Matty cocked his head, his eyebrow raising in interest. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

Betty put a hand on his shoulder, he watched her face with a perfected curiousity.

"I loved you." She said. Her free had left her side to twirl a curl of her dirty blonde hair.

"Me?" He said, feeling genuine shock at the statement. He didn't believe her for a second, of course, but it was rather flattering to have two people proclaim their love for you in less than twelve hours. He had an inkling about where this would go, and he wasn't all that worried about it. He wished he was.

"Why don't you come in. So we can talk about it?" Betty suggested. She met his eyes with a kind of sincerity he hadn't thought her capable of till now. He wondered if she'd been acting from the beginning. He suspected he was most likely spot on with that one.

"Sounds terrific." He said, smiling. Smiling and smiling- it wouldn't get him home in time to eat dinner with George.

His eyes flickered to her pale arms. He dared not touch skin so delicate—though he ached to. Perhaps it would fall apart at his hands; would it crack and hiss and break apart? He would likely not survive being the cause for yet another persons downfall. It felt nearly inevitable that it would be him to wreck his and George's relationship. Or friendship. Whatever it was that they had. And here he was.

_George. Shit. Shit. Shit._

"Y'know." She started, close enough for Matty to feel her breath on his cheek. "You're a lot smarter than I first thought you were."

"I could say the same about you." Matty said, murmuring his words as he watched her lips; he was mesmerized simply by the sight.

"Could you now?" She asked, her lips finding his. He closed his eyes and felt the venomous kiss; once a cheater, always a cheater. It didn't feel the same as George's. But it felt good. And good was what Matty strived to feel. So he let it happen.

"Bedroom?" Matty asked, panting after minutes of his tongue dancing with hers.

Betty nodded, able only to nod in confirmation, a strangled, ' _yes_ ,' pushing through her lips.

He'd learn to regret one day; tomorrow, perhaps.


	8. The Aftermath Of A Dumb Act

The omnipresent feeling of discontent and dissatisfaction was haunting. A considerable amount of inconsistent opinions attacked Matty from every direction like an angry swarm of wasps. Ruthless and unfatigued; it left him exhausted.

He wished he had stopped-  _could_  stop. He was hurting someone he loved more than he loved himself. And yet he couldn't stop.

He loathed himself for it. He wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror. 

His eyes were darkening with an unfathomable emotion; he didn't dare question it.

Cheating wasn't something Matty liked doing, but he wasn't completely unfamiliar to the act. You'd think having gone through several failed relationships would have taught him something other than the fault in loyalty.

"Your mouth works wonders." Was the somewhat terrifying line that snapped Matty out of his daze. He turned to face Betty, who lay in a loose t-shirt, sprawled out on the mattress as though comfortable with having just been unfaithful.

"I'm glad you think so." He rasped out.

He'd messed up- properly this time. There was nothing to do to fix this. Nothing. Maybe Julia would know what to do. Yes, she'd know.

"I've got to go." Matty said rather spontaneously—as though he couldn't quite believe it himself, sitting bolt upright, searching for his jeans in the darkness.

"Right now? It's really late. Why don't you spend the night?" Betty suggested, reaching for him.

He didn't take her hand, instead picking up his thankfully, unsoiled boxers, jeans and shirt, pulling them on in record time.

And then he was off to Julia's.

"I fucked up." Matty exclaimed, without even the preface of a greeting after knocking on the door energetically. Julia rubbed her eyes tiredly, glaring accusingly at him once her hands were folded again, hugging her chest as they always did.

"It's two in the morning, Matty. What did you do and why are you here?" Julia got straight to the point; a feature Matty had always appreciated and detested greatly. It made being honest a lot easier when the quick way out would be to lie.

"Half past, actually. Sorry. Never mind. Can I come in?" Julia nodded.

Matty spent far longer than he would ever willfully admit to pacing the rundown apartment, the knowledge that Julia had left the room to make them both a cup of tea unbeknownst to him till he heard her feel pad into the room, tea in hand.

Once they were both sat on the balcony- shivering but all too stubborn to admit to their suffering- Matty felt the slightest bit calmer. His hands were wrapped around the half empty cup of tea tightly, as though it would hand over the answers if he only pressed hard enough. It was a silly thought to hold onto; most were, anyway.

He wished to undo the events and choices that had brought him there- to the balcony, in Julia's presence. If he only knew how.

"What happened?" Julia spoke. Her voice sounded unamused for once. It unsettled Matty.

"Did you tell George?" She asked when he didn't immediately reply; he wasn't sure how to do that, either. He understood why she would jump to the topic of George. He almost wished she hadn't, though. It's always easier avoiding the disappointed faces of loved ones.   
It's easier to never come clean.

"Yeah." Matty sighed out eventually- when all the time had slipped out of his grasp and he no longer knew what to do with himself.

"That's good, Matty. Don't see why it brought you here, though."

"It's because it didn't." He tried to swallow, only to find that his throat had gone dry. His eyes seemed awfully keen on contradicting his mouth.

"I told him, yeah? And it was all good for like, an hour- but then Betty had to call and George,  _God_ , he broke it off right there and then. Betty kept him on the phone for over twenty minutes trying to convince him to come over to talk about it in person- so when George finally hung up and said he was gonna drive by and drop of her things, I offered to do it." He paused, upset and withdrawn.

"If you did what I think you did, then I'm not going to say it's okay. But I will say that it's fixable." She read him like an open book. She always did.

" _Everything_  is fixable nowadays." Matty wasn't sure why Julia's logic sparked a flare of anger in him so prominent it was impossible to ignore, but it  _did_ \- and in a moment of white hot rage, he stumbled up to the railing and hurtled the cup over it. Down and down it went, as though to taunt Matty with the idea of preservance. A crash followed by the angry wailing of a car alarm left Matty with nothing to do but crumble; knees buckling, arms hitting the cold cement floor.

"I didn't mean to throw your cup. I'm sorry. I'll get you a new one." Matty's breathing seemed unable to even itself out.

"The cup is the least of my worries, Healy." Her voice was closer than it had been before, inspiring Matty to open his eyes and investigate the scene before him. She was sat just in front of him with folded knees- a look of pity and disgust present on her face. She no longer seemed tired. The car alarm droned on.

"Listen, you're going to tell me what happened, and then you're going to go see where the cup landed, because I swear to you Healy, if it hit my  _fucking_  car-" She didn't finish, letting the threat hang in the air, making Matty flinch visibly. He was way past his refusal to show weakness, however, so it didn't faze him when Julia quirked an eyebrow in question.

He felt almost careless from the amount of caring he'd done as of lately. He believed the word he was looking for was overwhelmed.

"I cheated on George with his girlfriend." He let the confession carry the weight previously resting on his chest; he wore no filter as he said it as plainly as he dared without giving both Julia and himself a heart attack.   
Although, with further consideration, he wasn't entirely opposed to one right at that second. Dying seemed a whole lot easier than dealing with anything regarding actual  _emotions_.

" _Ex_ -girlfriend." Julia said softly. Matty felt an arm drape over him loosely. He was properly shaking then- shivers having escalated into a more visible form of shame.

"He's never gonna forgive me. I've really done it this time, Julia." He said it bitterly, as if he had already suffered the consequences of his actions. He had not, he had but an idea of what was coming.

Matty reckoned you had to be rather thick to fuck up as badly as this, and Matty, who had always prided himself on being just a bit too intelligent, felt nothing but remorse and regret so deep it was borderline the type of feeling you only found described passionately in death-obsessed novels.

"Talk to him. Tell him what happened- before Betty does." Julia said suddenly, sounding predominantly stressed.

"Why would Betty... Oh. Fucking  _hell_. You don't think...?" Matty studied Julia with worry, who nodded in answer. Matty cursed again, nearly tearing his hair out in another wave of anger and despair. He wished he had his cup back, so he could through it over the railing again. And again. And again.

"I'm such a moron- Betty would,  _of_   _course_  she would-"

"Go!" Julia hissed, ushering Matty up and towards the door. He obliged.

"What do I even say? This was my fault. It's all on me."

"Tell him the truth. Don't sugarcoat it. I reckon Betty's gonna juice it up, so just be blunt." Matty nodded sullenly, making to close the door.

"And Matty?" He halted. "I love you. Don't make this any worse." She gave him a sympathetic look, and he laughed without desire to do so.

"It's as bad as it can get, I promise you that." He left without a goodbye just as he had left without a greeting; it was easier that way.


	9. Once An Asshole, Always An Asshole

The impeccable row of misfortune flourished miserably- all too clearly in Matty's face.

Only the near constant fear of what he'd done- what he'd been capable of doing with just the smallest of nudges- kept him grounded. He reckoned he would have floated up to the ceiling had it not been for Julia's insistent phone calls and visits providing a perfect distraction.

Betty hadn't, to both Julia's and Matty's surprise, attempted to contact George just yet, but she would soon. That much was obvious with how things had been going as of late.

So Matty chose that that was the day to break everything he'd built up under the years he'd known the most incredible person on Earth. He unlocked the front door to the apartment George had shared with him since Sarah died, only to freeze once he stood in the hall, holding the door mid swing to close it.

"Sometimes I just don't get what goes on up in your head." Matty considered closing the door again after hearing George sound so distressed, but doing so would require the ability to justify stupid things, and Matty didn't have that talent.

"Fuck you, George.  _Fuck you_ and this- this whole fiasco!" Betty's voice shouted back. It sounded like she was crying, Matty realized. "Your promises were for naught, after all."

"I never loved you anyway." He heard George say, and that's when Matty froze, veins filling with fear, muscles tensing up.

"What?" Betty sounded small; broken and fragile.

"I never loved you." George repeated; louder, surer than ever. "And you want to hear something? I  _fucked_  Matty whilst you were in the kitchen. On the phone- like you always are." He wondered why he was lying. Did he want to hurt Betty?

"Yeah? Well  _I_  fucked Matty just last night." Matty's heart stopped. He tried to swallow, only to find that his throat had gone dry.

"Right. And I'm straight." George huffed. "He'd never do that. Not to me." It broke Matty's heart when he heard how unsure George sounded. He wanted to scream, punch a wall-  _something_. He continued to stare at the floor with teary eyes.

"Why don't you fucking ask him when he get's back, then?" Betty called out. Matty tried to back away, only to bump into the hat rack- why did they have one of those, anyway?- and listened with a determinedly upset expression on his face as it crashed to the floor. He gulped.

"Matty?" Betty's voice asked. He didn't say anything as he marched into the living room, where they stood together, both with crossed arms. He felt like he was sixteen all over again- being confronted by parents after returning from a party he hadn't been allowed to go to.

"Well, did you?" Betty asked, her eyes shining with more than just tears.

"Yes." And he wondered whether that was the first time he was completely honest about something. The room fell into silence. Matty figured the two other people watching him could hear his heart beat from where they stood.

"I'm sorry, George." He croaked out, trying and failing to meet George's eyes. "Please." He begged, only he didn't know what for. He wondered if George would ever forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself.

"Get out." George spoke; whispered. Matty's brain grasped for anything that could fix this; there really wasn't anything to say.

"Leave." He said in that same, unreadable tone.

"George, please don't-"

"Now." George interjected, and Matty was almost glad he had, because he didn't know what he'd say- even if he had a chance. Matty obliged, rushing out of the apartment.

He ran up the stairs; up and up he went. When he made it to the roof overlooking the dull part of town, he let himself move to sit calmly. He breathed in the toxic air; free and trapped. he was, undoubtedly, at one of his lowest points ever. But it wasn't the same old low he'd hit: this was emotional, to do with a relationship he'd wrecked. Normally he was mentally struggling.

 _Nice with a change_ , he thought.

Your stability grows when love dies, Matty reckoned. After the heartbreak is out of the way. It isn't insanely hard to find your footing again, once you've fallen. But Matty had fallen hard when he fell for George, and finding his footing was about as easy as tap dancing on irritated snakes.

What a scene he was: madness coupled with paranoia. Perhaps they were the same thing. Perhaps not.

Proof that the inevitable would happen, is what Matty needed. Confirmation that the sun would rise in the morning, proof that once the rain is pouring uncontrollably it will lull itself back into a quiet pitter-patter within an hour or two. He needed to know- and it was driving him mad knowing that he never would.

"I came here to die." Matty jumped at the voice. Betty sat down next to him, staring out at the town. The sun's light had turned orange; the sky seemed to dance with the clouds carelessly. "Or to avoid surviving, realistically speaking."

"What?" Matty asked, far too distraught to put up a fight about conversing with Betty, his archenemy.

"I moved here from NYC. Couldn't bare to stay after my dad passed away." She told it like an informative story. Matty wondered if she'd ever told George about her past. He also wondered why she was telling him.

"How...?" Matty dared voice.

"Cancer. Brain tumor. There wasn't much the doctors could do, really." She said. she seemed transfixed by the view.

"I'm sorry." Matty said, although he knew no amount of apologies would mend what her father's death had shattered. Nothing ever could.

"My grandma suggested I move here. So I did, but not to grieve or to forget. To die." She said. Matty felt a lump in his throat, and he seemed unable to swallow it down.

"I always thought I'd die before I turned twenty-six." Matty said, as though that would somehow make the situation better.

   "Well, you talk a lot for someone who thought they wouldn't make it another year."

   "You talk a lot regardless of your lifespan."

   "Rude."

   "Actually, it's  _touché_."

They shared the suddenly joyous moment in silence, overlooking the sky and town.

"I don't like you very much, Matty." She continued. "But besides being a massive twat, you seem to be rather decent. You definitely don't deserve to hear my life story, and I doubt you'd want to, anyway- but please- try not to screw yourself over again. The moment you think you've got your life sorted, it'll fall apart."

Matty didn't know what to say, so he settled on nodding. The clouds formed shadows over the town. Matty finally saw the appeal in living in apartments. It really was beautiful.

"I'm leaving town soon." Betty said, glancing at Matty. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Not to kill myself or something- I'm not resorting to that again. But I want to start over. Properly this time. Without having to rely on someone like George."

She stood then, glancing back wistfully at the town.

"He's always been mad for you, just so you know. Take care of Alan for me." She said, and just like that, she was gone.

Matty stayed on the rooftop till the sky darkened, till he could count the stars, till the moon said goodbye and the sun kissed his face good morning.

He'd fix this somehow. He had to.


	10. The Ending Is Always The Most Beautiful And Sad

_"It's like a dance. A performance." Matty muttered._

_"That's one hell of a performance. If it fooled everyone."_

_"But that's where it went wrong, George. I didn't just fool everyone I fucking love—I fooled myself."_

_"That's bullshit and you know it, Matty."_

_"Maybe. But I don't know what else to say. I love you." And those few words sounded so different from when he'd said them before. More genuine—desperate. He would always be desperate for reconciliation._

- 

   "George?" He managed to call out. He hadn't yet dared climb out of bed, his limbs seemed not to be his to control.

"Matty, love, why is every plate we own in the sink?" George asked from what Matty presumed to be the kitchen, his question humorous rather than demeaning, much to Matty's relief. His breathing hitched once or twice, but before he knew it, he found a smile in the place of a scared frown. He waited for George to trail back into the room Matty sat looking rather frazzled in.

"Well- I- I meant to wash it all, but I ran out of like, that proper soap you like, and then I just... Tesco's so far away-"

"Matty, it's like, a five minute walk from here."

" _Still_ , it's... whatever. Doesn't matter. But at least,  _George_ , I took the initiative to wait for you to come over."

   "And what makes that a smart move, exactly?"

   "Otherwise I would have washed it all with bathroom soap." Matty said.

   "You wouldn't have washed it regardless." And somehow, truer words had never been spoken.

   "I know. And I'm sorry for being such a nuisance." Matty said, joking, but he meant it.

"You're not a nuisance, love." Matty heard George say. He glanced at him, noticing the soft look in George's eyes. He felt just about ready to pass out right there and then, both from George's pet name, and from his heart speeding up to about 110 what the fuck's per hour.

"I wanna mean something, George." Matty said suddenly. "Something to someone else. Or  _be_  someone, perhaps. Someone worth their while; worth their  _time_. I want to be more than just a burden to someone else. Yeah. More than  _that_." It was a madman's rambling, but Matty couldn't find the will inside of him to dare change his wording. He was too tired. Too sad.

"You're not a burden, though, Matty. You know that, yeah?" George scooted over to Matty, wrapping his significantly larger arms around the small clump of Matty Healy, creating a sense of safety so strong he let his eyes flutter shut comfortably.

Matty let loose a quiet laugh lacking any bemusement he wished he had to offer George. He was not, in fact, amused.

"I get out of bed in the morning to get high; my life's goal is to have enough money in my wallet to pay my fucking half of the rent. I'm a fuck up. A massive fuck up who can't stay sober for longer than twenty-four hours." The words would've stung if Matty had been in any other state than the one he was in right then. So he let the room eat him alive- let the thoughts inside of his head pull his previous talkative mood from underneath him, pull the need to do anything that would count out of him- leaving it all strewn across the floorboards in pieces too small to put back together.

"You're not a fuck up, Matty. You're human. You make mistakes, and Matty- everyone makes mistakes- I make mistakes, our mates make mistakes, surely even  _God_  makes mistakes now and then."

Matty huffed at that, then mumbled, "He created me, didn't he? I'd reckon that's proof enough, hmm?"

"That's not what I-"

"And today's society- Jesus  _Christ_ \- he must regret fucking that up so badly, huh? Or maybe it was the devil- the devil must've done it. Right? Right."

Matty wondered if George had picked up yet on the fact that he was having a conversation not with him, but with the apartment. With the cracks in the ceiling. With the peeling paint on the walls. With the dust piled in every cupboard. Not with the only other thing in the room that could possibly reply verbally- but perhaps he didn't need a reply.

"Matty." George said it as though it was the prettiest word he'd ever heard. Matty disagreed with his tone.

"Yeah?" He mumbled against George's collarbone, not missing the shivers his body replied with. He smirked at that- he was nice that way.

"You're gonna be okay, love. I know you will." George mumbled into his hair. He was suddenly thankful for having washed it earlier that day, before George had decided to put his face in it.

   "But will  _we_  be okay? You and I? I know it's been long since everything happened, but I just- I don't... I'm still sorry."

   "We will." George promised, holding the entirety of their future together on the tip of his tongue.

"How do you know that?" Matty asked skeptically, huffing. He pressed himself just that little bit closer to George, however. George was warm- what on Earth did he expect?

"I just do." And that in itself was enough to lull the panicked thoughts tugging at his brain back into relaxed whimpers in the very back of his mind, to soothe his otherwise racing heart, and perhaps even coax a proper smile out of him.

-

Matty jolted awake at an unnecessarily early hour, his heart beating faster than what he reckoned would be considered healthy. He's a bit sweaty, he observes, catching his breath as that feeling of discomfort somehow claws its way back up into his dry throat. It was a long time since he had awoken feeling as though someone was trying to stick a damn knife in his back, a long time since paranoia swooned over him.

It took quite a while before Matty could lie back down, his head disappearing in between the cushions, his breathing easing into a calm, repetitive one. He sighed contently after a minute, happy he'd managed to calm himself down. Once he had, however, he needed to get up. He didn't  _need_  to, per se, but at the same time he did.   
He crawled out of his too warm bed into the too cold room and strutted into his living room, stopping momentarily. He basked in the somewhat eerie silence; he was alone.

Granted Matty hadn't done something completely unforgivable, he didn't see why God or whatever had woken him. He would much rather have slept a full night- which he'd been doing for so long now that he'd started wondering if perhaps sudden awakening had entirely stopped. He seemed to have no such luck, however.

It was a quiet day in a quiet town. There would be little excitement in the youth of the town, and much to do for those of older age. Matty and George, though, they were the exception. Matty was content with loving George from afar, and he always would be, but he had been lucky. His best friend reciprocated every inch of love he offered him.

He was determined to take advantage of the time he had with George. He reminded himself to find out what Betty's number was, if only to ring her up and see where she was and how she was doing. She'd probably hate him for it, but it was worth a try.

   "Love you." He whispered into the apartment to no one in particular. No one in particular happened to be George in this case, to absolutely nobody's surprise.

   "Love you, too. But you can wait to get all sappy on me till the wedding, can't you?" George murmured groggily into the pillow.

   "I'm always sappy." Matty frowned petulantly.

   "True, that." George smiled against the pillow, his hair a livid mess where it lay.

   "And you love it." Matty said, as though he needed reminding.

   "Even truer." He said, leaning forward to peck Matty on the lips.

He could definitely grow used to this. If only it hadn't taken a massive screw up to enforce their future.


	11. So Big, So Small

The fact that Matty found himself sobering up after a rather horrid night involving quite a lot of alcohol was not surprising, just a little disappointing. If he did have a say in how the morning thereafter went, however, he would have answered more alcohol. He was stupid that way.

The only reason he hadn't yet reached for the cheap bottle of wine was that of a person. George, to be exact. He had found it rather necessary to lay himself on top of Matty on the couch, his snoring resonating deep within his chest.

Matty wasn't pleased with the situation, but he didn't mind it all that much, either. George was a rather lovely pillow, after all, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of the opportunity that had arisen with George's exhaustion.

It was, however, getting rather hard to breathe with George's legs lying in a heap on Matty's chest, and so he decided hastily that something had to be done to stop it.

He ended up shoving George's leg off, which somehow-  _completely_  unbeknownst to Matty- left him falling to the floor with a loud 'thud'.

"What the  _fuck_?" Matty heard him croak, straining his neck to see him there, rubbing his head with a pained frown on his face.

"Sorry." Matty said, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse for pushing him off the couch.

"Sure." George mumbled, pushing himself up to get back up on the couch, next to Matty once more. Matty reckoned he'd always come crawling back to him, whether it be from the floor to the couch or from heart to heart.

It wasn't so that George had forgiven Matty in all but a few months time span. He'd simply chosen to be near his best friend and fiancé whilst he decided on the right thing to do.  And he had. A few weeks prior to that morning.

   "Why didn't you come to me first?" George asked then, glancing questioningly at Matty in their lazy position.

   "Thought you'd hate me forever." Matty said, knowing immediately what he was asking about, without a single drop of insincerity.

   "I could never hate you. Even if I really tried, I reckon." George's words were smooth and well articulated, as though he truly wanted Matty to remember the moment.

   "Liar." Matty couldn't stop the single word from slipping through his lips.

   "Then pretend I'm not." He said, eyes alive with wonder. "Pretend we're in love- pretend that nothing ever went wrong with us. Pretend God exists, if you want; we've got plenty of time."

   "I don't know." Matty breathed in the scent of George, basking in it, memorizing it.

   "I'll never stop loving you." George reminded him of in answer. Matty let his hand fall into George's, his grip loose and trusting. He felt warm and safe.

   "Good, 'cause I don't plan on moving from this sofa any time soon." George laughed at the strangely sincere creature lying with him. Matty would have laughed too, were he to switch positions with him.

The last few months hadn't in any way been easy, but they  _had_  forced both Matty and George to reach their very limits of tolerance and forgiveness- which, in the end, might have been the very thing that saved them both. And they'd never think to truly thank Betty for both eternally fucking up their arrangement, and for moving it along. Matty reckoned he never would have gotten up the courage to put his thoughts to word had she not butted in. He wondered where she was now— _who_  she was.


	12. Painted Walls And Towns-folk

Soon enough the town had returned to its usual flourishing state; proper children with proper homes and proper morals thrived once more. The problem with simple town-folk remained: they remembered only what they wished to remember. And only few held the memory of Betty close to the them; soon they would forget too. She was important only to her own story. 


End file.
